


guns on velvet

by lustalvania (Voidromeda)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: BDSM, BDSM Scene, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Gun Kink, Gunplay, M/M, Sexual Content, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25504288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voidromeda/pseuds/lustalvania
Summary: The thing about Keith is that he isn't a gun nut.He just loves weapons, and loves playing with them while using Shiro.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Kudos: 33





	guns on velvet

**Author's Note:**

> Keith's genitals are never referred to in this fic.  
> Shiro's genitals are referred to as "dick, cock" and "folds".
> 
> Edit: fixed an embarrassing autocorrect typo.

Keith isn’t a gun nut – god, he doesn’t even care about guns, not really. Shiro knows him best – the only thing that catches his attention, enraptures him, is the way in which weapons work. Shiro will often find him turning the same weapon over and over, taking it apart just to see its guts – as Keith likes to say, a toothy grin on his face and making him look boyish and young. Keith doesn’t really care about what the weapon is – a laser sniper, laser shotguns, pistols, Galran and Altean daggers and swords alike, Earth revolvers – he likes to spin the cylinder of the revolver over and over, listening to the satisfying whir.

He doesn’t care about what exactly the weapon he has in his hand is. He just cares that it is there in the first place – blades sharp enough to cut through steel, lasers honed enough to melt down even gold. Everything that he does is done with a grin on his face.

His partner loves to pick weapons apart.

  
  


  
  


And he likes to play fast and loose and use the pistols and daggers on Shiro, with blindfold on his eyes right now and hands and legs tethered to spreaders. His throat bare, Adam's apple bobbing, chest heaving and jumping – metal drags across his front, nudging against dark brown nipples that are painfully tight. The muzzle of the pistol is frightfully warm, shot some time ago but not enough to be blistering hot yet enough to be a dangerous reminder. A click of the trigger just to prove to him the safety is on, _click._

It drags a hot line down the middle of his body, stopping above his pelvis before Keith lays it flat on its side just above his dick and folds. “You’re hard, Shiro.” Keith  says quietly in his ear, a small kiss to the earlobe following after the statement.  The pistol lifts up and then drags further down, lightly upon his dick as to not smash it before settling between his folds – spreading them open so that he drips pre all over it, his breath getting caught in his throat.

“Doesn’t it feel nice?” Keith asks, giddy in a way that isn’t sweet – borderline sadistic, if Shiro is to put a word to it. A title that Keith will always deny, even if something festers in his stomach. The muzzle nudges against his hole, pressing down threateningly – his breath jumps into his throat. “I won’t do anything to you,” Keith says, a promise heavy on his skin, sharp teeth nibbling his earlobe, “but s’nice to feel the anticipation, huh? The way your stomach just jumps.”

_Fear._ But it’s the good kind – the kind that makes Shiro go racing at intense speeds, jumping off of ramps and showing off. The kind of fear that makes him want to go skydiving just to feel the thrill of it, that makes him go deep water diving to see all the creatures hidden in the murky depths.

It’s the kind of fear that makes his stomach tense up and form knots, the contents inside lurching. The safe word dances in the back of his head, a reminder that Keith will stop and drop everything at one mention and set about putting Shiro back into feeling comfortable, safe, loved. He knows his lover well enough – always teetering on the edge of something dark but always quick to snap to Shiro’s attention.

Keith has one, too – used on more than one occasion, when he can’t handle himself and tears slide down his face. 

This isn’t one of those times – borderline manic, excitable, his free hand dragging sharp nails down, Galra biology rearing up to turn them into claws. Thin lines form on his skin and blood dots up wherever Keith lazily moves his claws on. He loves to leave his own scars on Shiro, scars that fade quick.

Never permanent. Shiro hopes to someday convince Keith to just cut into him, knows that he can handle it – knows that he will love it. 

The muzzle nudges against his hole again. He drips all over it, cock bobbing with pleasure to the point of pain – Keith isn’t even really touching him besides clawing at him, overwhelming his body with metal and pain. He gasps and whimpers when Keith’s teeth threaten to break into the flesh of his earlobes – but he refrains. He always does.

“Want me to pierce you here, someday?” Keith says conversationally when he pulls back and Shiro can only turn his head to the side to give him easier access to his left ear. “Put a nice ruby stud here, maybe a hoop. Something for others to remember me by.”

Shiro swallows. “Sure,” he says, though he knows that Keith won’t take that as confirmation. Not unless it is out of the scene. “Do – do whatever you want to me.”

“And why can I do whatever?” he teases, pinching his earlobe hard enough to make Shiro cry out. “‘cause you’re mine, right?” he gives a jittery nod, swallowing the lump in his throat down. He can only imagine the grin that dances on Keith’s lips at his acquiescence – the very same ones that come crashing down onto his mouth, forcing it open with prodding and incessant tongue, and explores what belongs to him over again.

The gun rests on his inner thigh, the metallic body cool in comparison to his burning flesh. Heat and redness spreads all throughout him, his body open for perusal beneath Keith’s sharp eyes – eyes that may be glowing gold at this moment, trailing over him possessively.

A hand grips his chin, careful of the long claws his nails have become, and he lifts Shiro up, yanking him around like a puppet on string. The gun lifts off of his thigh and rests on the lower lip of his open, gasping mouth, the muzzle cooler now that time passes by.

_Click._

“You okay with this?” Keith says, dropping character for a moment, concern bleeding through his voice, “say the word, and I’ll stop at any time.”

Silence drags on. He opens his mouth wider, tongue lulling out to bump against the gun resting on his lower lip. Keith laughs, always taken back by Shiro’s eagerness yet revelling in it all the same. He kisses Shiro’s forehead.

The gun slides up, presses onto his tongue, and his eyes sting with tears when Keith begins to slide the pistol in. It is far, far larger than his mouth can accommodate, straining him when he takes the small amount in – and Keith _groans._ Loud and rumbling, voice growing rougher and deeper with his Galran heritage. Growls slipping past.

He _loves_ to see Shiro like this, drool running rivers down his chin as he is unable to properly close his lips around the barrel of the gun that is keeping him open. He can _barely_ taste himself on the gun, traces of gunpowder, and mostly unwelcoming, unfeeling metal warming up inside of his mouth – pressing against the inside of his cheek as Keith moves it around, barely thrusts it in both pulling out and careful not to hurt his teeth.

The muzzle presses down on his hanging tongue, Keith giggling at the sight. “You’re like a dog.” he says snidely, lovingly, as he applies more pressure, “you’re my sweet little obedient, lost puppy.” it lifts off of his tongue and nudges against his throat, saliva spreading and drying quick on both skin and gun. He digs it in hard enough to scare Shiro then immediately sets it aside.

A kiss presses to the corner of his lips, hands settling on his hips – uncaring of his claws that scrape. “Let’s take care of you, huh, puppy?” Keith coos into his ear, thumbs rubbing circles on his hips.

  
  


  
  


  
  


“Because you’ve been my good, sweet little puppy,” he repeats, “and I’m going to make you feel so good _you pass out beneath me.”_


End file.
